Harry Potter and the New Jedi Order
by Trahald of Uru
Summary: Harry finds a possible explanation for the "un-naturalness" his relatives seem to hate so much.
1. Every Saga Has a Beginning

**Got the hang of publishing...I think...now to get with the story. I will endeavor to bring this story to a satisfactory conclusion (more-so than the book 7 epilogue that made me wonder what they really accomplished). If this plot bunny is not brought to fulfillment, I have no-one to blame but myself.**

A Few Decades Ago in This Very Galaxy...

Harry James Potter of Number Four Privet Drive was proud to say he was perfectly non-mediocre, thank you very much. He was the last person you'd expect to see cheating on a test, or beating up other children for their lunch money, because he just didn't hold with such nonsense.

His cousin, on the other hand...

Well, there was a good reason the young boy preferred the quiet library to the rather violent schoolyard. The seven-year-old boy had just been dismissed along with his fellows from their First Form classroom for lunch and recess, but as his overly stingy aunt had neither packed him a lunch, nor provided the necessary coinage to procure one from the school kitchen, he had, to his young mind, all the time in the world to immerse himself in the school's books. One hour, to a boy his age, was a reasonably long time.

He had just finished Matilda by Rold Dahl yesterday, and thoroughly enjoyed it, aside from the name of Matilda's jerk of a father ("Harry" should only be a protagonist's name) and was now on the prowl for new material. He finally settled on the Star Wars Trilogy novelizations, all bound into one volume.

Harry had heard only tantalizing snatches of the movie (he didn't know which one) through the door of the boot cupboard that functioned as his bedroom, and now here was a way to get the plot, though not the marvelous music.

50 minutes later, Harry had gotten as far as the Jawas capturing Artoo, when he decided to check the book out, and surreptitiously bring it home.


	2. Revelation on a Rooftop

A fortnight had passed since Harry had checked out the Star Wars novels, and when he wasn't seeing to his aunt's garden, or cleaning up after his slob of a cousin, he was in his cupboard with a torch/flashlight pilfered from Dudley's second bedroom, making steady progress through Skywalker's crusade against his family's killers. The Dursleys would have loudly objected to his doing anything vaguely intellectual, so he made sure they never found out about his (oh horror of horrors) _reading._ Their standard for what "normal" boys should do was their son, who was about as uncivilized as the tribe in Lord of the Flies.

Of all the days for Dudley to begin building up such a tribe ("making friends", according to the willfully blind Aunt Petunia), it had to be the day when the school library was closed for renovations! Consequently, rather than learning how Luke would escape Dagobah with a crashed ship, Harry was fleeing from a pack of local savages, and only partially succeeding.

He realized he was being corralled into the alleyway behind the kitchens, and that he had no alternative but to play along. Fortunately, there was a line of trash bins available as a hiding place, though that seemed too obvious for even Dudley to miss, now that he thought about it.

His subconscious mind, however, provided an interesting solution to his problem. Right as he vaulted over the trash bin, he found himself on the roof above the alleyway.

It might have been the wind, except then he would have traversed the intermediary space between the ground and the roof. the only other explanation was that this was another Unexplainable Event, like when his hair had grown back overnight from the terrible haircut Petunia had inflicted on him. As explanations went, this was lacking. So he, again, tried to find what all these incidents had in common, other than them happening to him.

The only explanation that kept coming up was "magic", but Vernon and Petunia both vehemently insisted that magic didn't exist. On further reflection, Harry concluded that since those two...people...also said Dudley was what every respectable boy should aspire to be, their word was at best questionable.

The aforementioned paragon of boys everywhere was now throwing a small tantrum in the alley below, until Gordon suggested they find some other innocent to harass.

Even discounting the word of his guardians, however, Harry was reluctant to attribute all these incidents to "that which cannot be understood" as the library's dictionary had said about the etymology of the word "magic". It just seemed too much of an intellectual cop-out. The thought which had been percolating in his head since he'd finished Matilda now had considerably more fuel on which to feed. He began connecting the dots in his mind, with the idea of a "mystical energy field controlling everything" at the forefront of his thoughts. As he couldn't find a way down from the roof, he figured he might as well pass time trying to see if such a thing actually did exist, and if it might help him control these incidents. He settled against a chimney stack and closed his eyes, attempting to meditate.

Unfortunately, just as he felt he was about to make a breakthrough, the bell rang signaling the end of recess. And he was still up on the roof. With no way to get back to class. At least he'd thwarted Dudley's latest attempt to beat him bloody.


	3. First Step Into a Larger World

After bringing a note home (Harry wouldn't have bothered if the headmistress hadn't required it to be signed and returned the next day) saying that he'd been climbing school buildings, the would-be Jedi was condemned to his cupboard for the entire weekend, save restroom breaks. ("You're filth enough without adding a pile of excrement to your surroundings!" Such love to be felt in the house. Lily and Dumbledore would be proud.) This gave him ample opportunity to practice what the bell had interrupted.

He settled into what he thought to be a meditative state ten minutes faster this time, the words of Yoda ringing through his head. _"Its energy surrounds us, and binds us...You must feel the Force around you. Between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere."_

After five hours of attempting to blow his own mind, he began to feel a tingle on the edge of his awareness, which he hoped was not wishful thinking. He focused on that, and the sock that was sitting on the cot in front of his crossed legs flew into his hand. Harry restrained a cheer, and loudly knocked on the cupboard door so his aunt would let him relieve his bladder.

* * *

Another week passed, and Harry could call up that tingling within seconds. His practicing had the unfortunate effect of slowing down his reading pace. He'd have only another fortnight to learn how Han was rescued from Jabba and then to finish the book, for it was a library book, and would have to be returned then.

This led to him meditating at slightly inconvenient times, like when the teacher was going over the basics of arithmetic with his class. Unfortunately, she had a habit of calling on people she believed (quite correctly in this case) were not paying attention.

_"Luminous beings are we, not this crude-"_ "Harry!"

This caused Harry's internal tingle to focus on his teacher as his attention shifted...leading to another note home about the sudden color change of her wig.

On the positive side, time spent unmolested in his cupboard was more time he could spend reading.

* * *

The Empire was dead.

Long live the alliance.

what a weekend!

Harry had managed the color-change trick on a patch of one of the stair's undersides, leading to a Star Wars logo staring at him from an angle that his relatives couldn't see. He could hold the tingle for increasingly longer periods of time, and even managed to stay conscious of his surroundings while doing it, leading to no further incidents like his teacher's wig. On his way to the library during recess to return the book, Dudley's gang decided to engage in another round of Harry-Hunting. A few small rocks summoned to the back of Dudley's head, however, and the whiny lardbucket was sufficiently distracted for Harry to slip inside the library. Unfortunately, this was four years before 1991, so Heir to the Empire hadn't yet been written. From this point on, as far as Force use went, Harry was on his own.


	4. Other Places You Will See

**Oops. I was under the mistaken impression that the Thrawn trilogy was the first Star Wars novel. But Splinter of the Mind's Eye was published in 1978. I haven't read that one, but I will, and then hopefully I'll have some new material. However, I doubt it was nearly as widely promoted as Shadows of the Empire (which even had a graphic novel adaptation) so he wouldn't find it in a school library anyway.**

* * *

Force persuasion was a very useful trick, and it the next summer, Harry used it to great effect in getting his aunt to back off and let him out of the house.

He was at the top of a sizable oak tree, the lowest branches still high enough that even a man as tall as Vernon would need a Force-enhanced jump to reach it. Dudley's gang had no hope of reaching him.

With this sanctuary, Harry had plenty of time to focus on the innate energy of the biosphere. To his eyes, it formed a network exponentially more complex than the whole of Earth's telecommunications network. Each cell was its own node, and organisms on a visible scale were practically their own civilizations. Strangely, some of Mrs. Figg's cats showed a level of responsiveness to the surrounding Force signatures than most humans he'd met lacked, except that one strange bloke two months back who randomly shook his hand while out shopping. Harry wondered if he wasn't the first to try the Jedi path, and maybe the Force had alerted this odd fellow to his own growing prowess. It was the best theory he could manage with his limited data.

Though Harry's data wasn't nearly as limited now as it had been in years past. First off, the Greater Whinging public library was within 45 minutes walking distance. On top of his latest find, Splinter of the Mind's Eye, he'd found his parents' obituaries. Rather than dying in a drunken car crash, his father worked in counterterrorism until one of his enemies threatened Harry's life. Obviously, their going into hiding didn't work.

Reflecting on this while up in the tree, Harry wondered what else the Dursleys had lied to him about, when the Force decided to answer his curiosity.

* * *

_The door to his shabby bedroom opens and in steps a auburn-haired old man with a prominent beard. Behind the stranger, the bitchy matron of his orphanage tells him he has a visitor._

_The following conversation explains so much about his power over the world._

* * *

_He now steps into the old man's domain, years later seemingly to inquire about a teaching position. He's grown past being the helpless waif Tom, and is extremely irritated at the headmaster's refusal to acknowledge such._

* * *

_He feels some consternation at his servant's getting caught before hearing more, but what Severus did manage to catch is intriguing._

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."_

_And some very helpful information on finding his would-be adversary. Good._

* * *

_"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"_

_Harry can't see who is speaking, but recognizes the face from his parents' grown-up stuff._

_"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground."_

* * *

Harry found his consciousness snap back to summer of '88, the scar on his forehead feeling as if someone had stuck a wire under it and vibrated a magnet over the surface. A knot on the branch that doubled as his seat was digging painfully into his tailbone.

Putting this string of visions into context would undoubtably take quite some effort. Harry had a bad feeling about this...


	5. Begun This War Has

**I have not made much progress on my new Splinters of the Mind's eye e-book, due to college classes starting. Said classes are also my least embarrassing excuse for leaving you, my readers, hanging. Time has a way of slipping away.**

* * *

A month had passed and with it, half the summer holidays. Harry had focused further on the source of these visions of Voldemort, and had made a lot of progress in knowing his enemy.

Turns out, it the Force hadn't pulled the information about his backstory from the external environment, but from a fragment of Voldemort's force-presence embedded in his head. This was a rather disquieting concept for more than the initial gut reaction of disgust. There were also other shorn off pieces of Riddle that anchored his consciousness to the basic three-dimensional world we inhabit, with a possibility of rebuilding a body sometime in the future, assuming it hadn't happened already. In short, Harry's intel about Voldemort came from one of the things whose existence was keeping Voldemort alive. And he didn't know how to survive getting rid of it.

For now, however, he had a list of five more of these vile horcruxes that could be eliminated with considerably less sacrifice on his part.

The diary was wherever Malfoy had hidden it, probably in his fortress of a manor.

The ring was in Little Hangleton, near Nottingham and well out of Harry's still too limited teleportation range

The diadem was in Hogwarts, and if going halfway up England was too far, going up to the Scottish castle was out of the question.

The locket was too well protected to reach, especially without the means to cure the nightmare draught. Harry could theoretically compel Dudley to drink it, but that action sounded a little too sith-like for his taste

Hufflepuff's cup was in Gringott's bank in London.

Hmm...London was within his teleportation range, and the Goblins, treaty-bound to remain neutral in Wizarding conflicts, would not take kindly to their security being used to bolster a terrorist's apparent immortality.

Having picked a course of action, harry compelled his aunt to weed her own damn garden and leave him out of it. He dressed in his least raggedy clothes, and with an almost silent pop, began the simplest leg of his quest.

* * *

Harry teleported to a restroom stall in the nearest park to Charing Cross Road, and stopped at a clothing store to get a ball cap. It's amazing how much coinage you can get when you're able to summon it out of storm drains.

armed with a basic disguise, or at least a cover for his scar, he set off to the Leaky Cauldron using the directions Dumbledore had given Tom. An hour later (London looked nothing like it did in the 1930's) he finally found the shabby pub and went inside.

As much as the rest of the city had changed, one couldn't tell from the inside of the Cauldron, which looked about the same as ever, except slightly more shabby, and the barkeep was considerably older. Harry asked Tom (the barkeep, not his own unwelcome passenger) to help him open the gate to Diagon Alley, and Tom directed the maid to assist him.

Diagon Alley had the same atmosphere as before, but there was a new quidditch shop, among other places. His destination wasn't any of these places, though, for the marble bank was beckoning.

* * *

After waiting in the shortest line, and enlightening the teller as to his lack of a vault key, he was directed to the security offices. Apparently Harry Potter was not the first one to come in using that name, and without a key to boot.

Harry was presented with a small rune-lined bowl and a knife. He was told to jab his finger and drip some blood in the bowl, causing it to glow a pleasant shade of green not unlike what he pictured Luke's second blade to be.

With the blood test completed, he was directed to the office of his families financial advisor, and they got down to business.

Said business would soon alter the course of British history.


	6. Two Steps Forward

**Barchoke's name is lifted from multiple stories by robst. His tales do not suck.**

* * *

It turned out the goblins were only waiting for an excuse to get involved. Riddle's stated policy on half-breeds and non-humans did not win him many friends outside the militantly pure-blooded.

The Potter account manager, Barchoke, was therefore oscillating between happiness and anger at Bellatrix LeStrange's breech of the treaty. Barchoke and his client worked out a deal: 500 Galleons for every tip about a horcrux location that bore fruit, excluding the one in Hogwarts, which they were prohibited from entering by a completely different treaty, and the diary, which was in the private residence of a wizard too influential for anyone's good.

With the anticipated profits, Harry would easily be able to affort the 700 galleons to transfer the soul fragment from his forehead to a pig. Though that could wait, as he was still milking that particular horcrux for information.

* * *

Barchoke and Harry met up again ten days later to discuss progress.

"Most of the ones we could reach were where you said, but someone beat us to the locket." Barchoke produced a small slip of parchment from his desk drawer. "This was inside the locket."

To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I wanted you to know it was I who discovered your secret. I've stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as possible. I face my death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more. R.A.B.

"Sounds as if Riddle was expected to know this fellow," Harry contributed. "Out of those who followed him, the name Regulus Arcturus Black springs to mind."

"We're on the same page, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, while we have a good idea where he's hidden it, the location's been locked down ever since the death of Regulus's mother three years ago."

"Grimmauld Place? Sirius is on our side, he could help."

"IF he wasn't imprisoned for murdering Mr. Pettigrew and betraying your family."

"Betraying my family? What tripe is that?"

"Dumbledore said so at the closed door hearing for Mr. Black's case."

"Closed door trial, you mean..."

"'Trial' implies the defendant had a chance to present a defense. We would have said Pettigrew's will never unsealed, but the DMLE was too wrapped up in self-righteous fervor to accept information on the case that didn't confirm what they already believed."

"So the ministry gave Lucius Malfoy the chance to bribe his way out of trouble, but wouldn't even let their savior's rightful guardian speak in his own defense? Whose side are they on?"

"Considering how stuffed that institution is with Dark sympathizers, we honestly cannot tell."

"Is Crouch still head of Law Enforcement?"

"He was shunted to International Magical Co-operation upon the revelation of his son's loyalties. His successor is Amelia Bones, who would be considerably more effective without Minister Bagnold's constant meddling."

"So we're stuck? Can't get to the Black properties without a Black, and Sirius is out of reach."

"Sadly yes. Without Pettigrew in hand, the ministry and our faction are at an impasse."

At least they had eliminated the cup and the ring.


	7. Tempus Fugit

**I'm sorry for the long delay. I realized I had bled my plot bunny dry, and was struggling to squeeze more out of it.**

* * *

The next few years flew by, and as Harry grew, so did his abilities.

His cupboard (protected by a Someone-Else's-Problem field, inspired by Douglas Adams) was as big as the lower story of the house (He'd wanted to try this trick since reading a Doctor Who novel, but the effect was from reverse-engineering a wizarding tent). He had forged a portal to the outside of the house through which Gringotts owls could reach him without alerting his relatives.

There had been little progress on the horcruxes, but the one in his head had yielded the whole of Tom's education at Hogwarts, and his forays into the Dark Arts, much of which Harry would have loved to skip over. Despite the redundancy, he had decided to accept attendance at Hogwarts, if nothing else to keep the wizards from getting too suspicious. If they would deny a trial to a Sirius Black for being at the wrong place and time, then being another Voldemort, however much more morally sound, might well get him the death penalty!

Finally, in mid-July 1991, the Hogwarts acceptance letter arrived. For the first time ever, Harry anticipated happily watching his uncle's temple throb.

On second thought, given the eerily specific address on the envelope ("The Cupboard Under the Stairs" was part of it) maybe he should just keep the letter to himself. He rather liked all the improvements on his cupboard and didn't want to be forced to leave.

* * *

Harry didn't bother to mind-trick his aunt into forgetting about him for the day. He figured that the sooner she realized that her campaign to shove suburban mediocrity down his throat had failed, the better. So after a quick apparition to the rear of the Leaky Cauldron, he was ready for a day of school shopping. After a quick stop at the bank for cash, he stepped into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"Hogwarts, dear?" said the lady behind the counter. Upon his nod, she continued, "We have another one in the back getting her robes fitted as well. Just go back there and we'll get you sorted out."

The other customer had a mane of bushy brown hair and a set of braces on her teeth. Definitely a muggleborn.

"Hello," said the girl when Harry stepped onto the stool next to her. "I'm really excited for the coming term. I never knew all the strange things I could do were magic until recently. I thought maybe a Q had meddled in my development. It seemed as good an explanation as any. I'm Hermione Granger. Who are you?"

"Harry Potter. Yes-" he said to the shopgirl measuring his torso "-the Harry Potter. Please don't examine my forehead with the hand holding those needles." Harry turned back to miss Granger. "I've been training myself as a Jedi. Could have known the truth earlier if a certain society of recluses had actually told me the truth in a timely fashion."

"My mother said something similar to Professor McGonagall, and she alluded to a secrecy law. Though if they would have told us eventually anyway, why keep our families in suspense for a decade?"

"Must be because they want a big dramatic reveal. Or maybe the purebloods want the muggle-raised to have as little involvement in their culture as possible."

"Pureblood?"

"Ancestry means as much in this culture as it did in Feudal England before the renaissance. Those with the longest magical bloodlines have a leg-up in this society. Most are simply going about their lives and don't really care about who their great-great-great-great-grandpappy was. My pureblood father married a muggleborn. Unfortunately, there are some for whom blood is everything, like the twit who murdered my parents for being a 'mudblood' and 'blood-traitor'"

Hermione's face took on a look of sympathy, but one could tell she was also glad she hadn't experienced something similar.

"That's you done, miss," said the girl taking Hermione's measurements.

"Bookstore next!" she quipped, her enthusiasm quickly returning. Harry noticed she picked up a well worn three-inch-thick novel off the table by the door on her way out.

She was still browsing Flourish and Blotts bookshelves two hours later.


	8. The garbage will do!

**Remember when I said in my Ch5 AN that time has a way of slipping away. Well…**

Harry, inspired by his new acquaintance's habits, visited the bookshop weekly over the rest of the summer (Apparition was so convenient). After several years of conditioning (and her own realization of how much less stressful it was with him out of the house), Petunia did not object when Harry said how he'd been accepted in a boarding school for 10 months out of the year. In actuality, she'd realized how powerful he'd become within months of his mastering apparition, and figured it was safer for everyone to look the other way. It's not like Dumbledore gave her a means to contact him anyway.

Harry Potter, the closest the Sol system had to a Jedi master (which, considering local conditions, wasn't saying much) suddenly appeared with a soft floosh of displaced air in an alley several blocks from Kings Cross station (this was before the explosion of CCTV cameras all over Britain in the late 90's, so he wasn't worried about being spotted) and strode (inasmuch as an eleven-year-old can stride) through the city and into the station. His Tom Riddle memories were once more helpful in figuring out how to get to his destination, Platform 9 3/4. Upon arrival, he was hit by a major surprise. In the late 30's and early 40's steam engines were somewhat quaint but still common enough. To the modern Harry, however, the Hogwarts express would be classified as a tourist attraction. Continued use of quills was one thing (the formerly living material retained enchantments more effectively than artificial fountain pens) but if you're going to use full-blown technology, you might as well go all the way. Even a diesel engine wasn't delicate enough for the magic in Hogsmeade Valley to muck with its workings. Something as primitive as a steam-powered locomotive, though more magically stable, was sure to stick out, which went against one of the main tenants of Wizarding society since the Church went crazy over a mistranslation in the Latin Vulgate ("Thou shalt not suffer a _witch_ to live" would more accurately be conveyed as "necromancer") and started executing magic users in general. Granted, the average person won't think "they're primitive, it must be magic!" but still, the less attention on this group the better.

Still marveling at the magical cultures negligence in keeping up with the times (if they wanted to avoid muggle influence altogether, why use a train at all?), Harry rolled his featherlight trunk down the corridor of the train in search of an empty compartment. He found Hermione in the last compartment on the last car. Naturally, she was reading, and as Harry knew how jarring it could be yanking someone out of their reading material, he just settled down and pulled out his copy of the Timothy Zahn's new Star Wars novel to pass the time. Thrawn was really a kickass villain.

Leia's body chemistry thwarting the latest kidnapping attempt was punctuated by the sudden opening of the compartment's door. Harry's Riddle Memories™ were quickly cross-referenced and indicated a mix of features from two of the most troublesome (read here: competent/morally sound) aurors to oppose the Death Eaters. Though Riddle had seen Frank and Alice Longbottom's faces with a righteously angry expression, as opposed to the frustrated/distraught expression on this newcomer.

Neville Longbottom's facial expression was brought on by his toad having gone missing. Hermione stuck the seven of diamonds she was using as a bookmark into Hogwarts: A History, and set out with Mr. Longbottom on an epic quest for the errant amphibian. Harry, as a way of declining to accompany them, pulled up his bangs and, exposing his scar, conveyed his lack of desire to cause a riot.

The train pulled out of the station accompanied by many families waving their kids goodbye (lucky bastards). Soon, London's sparkling skyscrapers were sinking under the distant southern horizon.

Harry greatly anticipated a Dursley-free ten months.

* * *

**Read Timothy Zahn's "Heir to the Empire" to know what scene Neville interrupted. Sorry if you find the chapter too short, but you've been waiting long enough. The biggest challenge is making original material (If you wanted a close rehash of HP1, you'd have just read JKR's novel) while working with the very limited scope of early nineties expanded universe. Episode VII is a great film (My father and grandfather saw the original in the theater seven times, and in Grandpa's memory, dad and I have matched that record), but part of me will always prefer Thrawn to Snoke, and I'll greatly miss the Solo's THREE kids and Mara Jade Skywalker.**


End file.
